Anderson's Worst Nightmare
by Thorn17
Summary: Set Pre-A Study In Pink. Lestrade's unhappy with Anderson's lack of progress in training to become a forensic scientist, and so he enlists Sherlock Holmes' help to force Anderson to achieve his full potential. Sherlock is happy to oblige, especially if it means getting a little revenge on Anderson for all the times he has called him 'freak'.


"What is it this time, Lestrade? It better not something trivial. _Again_." The patronising voice of Sherlock Holmes briefly predated his prompt emergence from the shadows, striding into the alley where he deliberately encountered Lestrade, Anderson and the body of a young male. Sherlock immediately amused himself by silently deducing which of the three men before him wanted to be there the least. It was probably Anderson, because the man was currently about as useful as a chocolate teapot and he knew it. Training to become a forensic scientist, Anderson had only passed all of his previous assessments by the skin of his teeth. Sherlock, on the other hand, had always passed his assessments with flying colours, which didn't help calm the instant animosity between the pair.

Not completely oblivious to Sherlock and Anderson's blatant disregard for each other, Lestrade bit back a smile at the consulting detective's enigmatic entrance to the macabre crime scene. Mycroft had been right; Sherlock Holmes _did_ love to be dramatic. It was just a shame that Sherlock's brilliance was overlooked by other members of the police force in favour of ridiculing the consulting detective's eccentric ways. "Glad you could come, Sherlock. I think you'll like this one. A few hours ago, we found the body that you see before you. As it stands, Anderson has determined the cause of death to be gunshot wounds, self inflicted, but I..."

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide his incredulity. "Wrong."

"What do you mean?" Lestrade raised a challenging eyebrow as he spoke, but made no other physical movement, skillfully hiding the fact that he was secretly ecstatic that Sherlock had disagreed with Anderson. Usually he didn't like encouraging petty feuds, but it was evident to everyone but Anderson, it seemed, that Anderson's conclusion with regards to the cause of death had been wrong. When other members of the team had approached him about it, Anderson had accused them of being biased, or of trying to make themselves look good. There was no way he could protest that that was happening with Sherlock. Put simply, Sherlock's presence was fulfilling the role of an inadvertent but independent invigilator.

Sherlock's condescending voice cut through the air. "Traditionally, the word 'wrong' means that a person is not right. Their conclusions are erroneous. They are under a misapprehension. Need I name any more synonyms?"

Anderson chose that particular moment to interrupt, not being able to refrain from complaining to his boss over the inference of being called incorrect for a moment longer. He was in the latter stages of his forensics training, but that did not mean that he had learned to adapt to the pressure that came with the job. Anderson kept making rookie mistakes, but Lestrade was a fair man and kept forgiving him because away from the field, Anderson evidently knew the information. However, there would come a time when Anderson would have to stand on his own two feet and apply the knowledge correctly, especially if he actually wanted to work on the field and not just in the laboratory. There was no better incentive for this than to expose Anderson to Sherlock Holmes for a second time, with their previous encounter having been extremely unsuccessful, to put it mildly. If Anderson did not work a little harder, he would have to tolerate Sherlock for longer, and Lestrade could see that this would be an unacceptable scenario in the trainee forensic scientist's eyes. "Oh come on, Sir! It's obviously a shooting death. You can see the entrance and exit holes that the bullet made in the body!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and interrupted the imbecile. He didn't like it when people wasted his time. "I see no evidence to support that theory. True, the circular wounds have a diameter that would suggests that they were caused by a bullet, but there is no gunshot residue - also known as GSR - in or around the wound, no physical bullet in the body, and a distinct lack of the smell that is produced after a gun has been discharged. I'd tell you the specifics and technical terms for these signs but I doubt that you'd understand them. Also, I can't believe I actually have to point this out to you, but I suppose that I shouldn't have expected any better from Mr Anderson here," Sherlock snarled the name, "when I say that, not only was this man not murdered by being shot, but even if he had been, there is no gun next to the body. As it's highly unlikely that your victim ate the gun whilst bleeding to death, the only possible conclusion is that your victim wasn't shot, and that he certainly didn't kill himself. The signs are obvious, Lestrade, but as usual, this idiot missed them all."

"Freak's got it wrong, he must have!" Anderson regretted his outburst almost instantly. Lestrade was a fair man, but he would not tolerate any form of bullying, such as the bullying tactics that Anderson, Donovan and other members of his force attempted to use against Sherlock. Anderson knew that now he had insulted Sherlock - who evidently had connections in very high places, judging by the umbrella-wielding government official that had met with Lestrade on several occasions on 'Sherlock-related matters' - there would be no more second chances, no more overlooking the mistakes that Anderson had clumsily made.

Lestrade's eyes narrowed. his brow furrowed, and he took care to enunciate every word, meaning that the intellect of Sherlock Holmes was not necessary in order to work out that Lestrade was unimpressed with Anderson's behaviour, and that was putting it mildly. "_Sherlock_, also known as _Mr Holmes_ to you - _not_ 'freak' - is very rarely wrong, which is more than can be said for you as of late."

"But..." Anderson began to protest, but Lestrade raised a hand to silence him.

"End of story, Anderson. I don't particularly care if the pair of you don't get on, but what I _do_ care about is finding whoever murdered this poor man and making sure they pay for what they have done. Now, go away and tell your team to take the body to the mortuary. Let Miss Hooper conduct a postmortem, which will put any remaining qualms about this man's cause of death to rest. Find a feasible cause of death, give me something indisputable to work with. I don't want to waste any time on wild goose chases when there is a murderer on the loose in London. Do you understand?"

The forensic scientist stalked off, grumbling and cursing under his breath. Sherlock reemerged from out of the shadows in which he had removed himself from view during Lestrade and Anderson's dispute. He was enjoying watching Anderson being put in his place, and knew that it was more likely to continue if the pair didn't have a live audience to distract them.

"Why Scotland Yard continues to employ that man is beyond my comprehension. I've told you repeatedly that Anderson is incompetent, Lestrade, I just failed to accurately assess the degree to which this statement is true. He didn't even realise that tonight's 'murder victim' was a training exercise. Of course, it was evident to me as soon as I arrived. Anderson's really outdone himself this time," Sherlock drawled sarcastically.

Lestrade avoided directly agreeing with the man. The last thing that Sherlock Holmes needed was an ego boost. "All I'm saying is that it's a good thing that this _was_ only a training exercise. If this had been a real case..." Lestrade's voice trailed off and he shuddered, imagining how much time could have been wasted pursuing incorrect leads to due a false diagnosis of the cause of death, the amount of time that the relatives would have remained hopeful that something would turn up, putting their faith into the police, only for their trust to be dashed when the police eventually realised that they were pursuing the wrong line of enquiry. It didn't bear thinking about, though thankfully Lestrade personally wouldn't have to worry about damage control as much as he had done before. Mycroft Holmes had assured him that he would have the matter in hand, if the situation arose.

"Stop daydreaming about my brother, Lestrade. What are you going to about Anderson? Fire him?" Sherlock looked far too happy at that suggestion, and Anderson didn't_ really_ deserve to be fired for only failing _one_ training exercise, even if he was arrogant, childish and rude.

A mischievous smirk emerged on Lestrade's face as he formulated a plan to punish the pair for forcing him to endure their petty squabbling. They were both supposed to be professionals, and so it was about time that they started acting like it. "No. I have a better idea."

* * *

"This is ridiculous! I'm going to quit! I refuse to be tutored at all, let alone by _you_!" Anderson wailed. "I thought Lestrade was joking when he told me. I never thought that this nightmare would actually happen!"

Sherlock smirked. "Believe me, that thought is entirely mutual. I never thought that I'd get the opportunity to raise your IQ level above single figures, but I stand corrected. Now, let's get on with it. As enjoyable as ridiculing you is going to be, I have more important things to be getting on with. I don't have excessive leisure time to spend educating you on what you should already know. Now, give me the correct name of the powder used to detect fingerprints on surfaces."

"Oh come on, that's simple!"

"What is it then?"

"It's..."

"Sorry, you took too long to answer," Sherlock purposefully interrupted Anderson just as he began to answer. "Let's try an easier one, shall we? What's the chemical formula for the acid found in the stomach?"

"I..."

"Again, too slow," interrupted Sherlock again, smirking at how flustered Anderson was becoming already. "Well well, I really _have_ got my work cut out for me, haven't I? Your reaction times are terrible." He was rather enjoying watching Anderson squirm under his scrutiny. It was only fair, given that on anybody else but Sherlock, Anderson's insults would have had a detrimental effect on that person's self esteem. Now it was time for Anderson to have a taste of his own medicine, Sherlock-style.

* * *

Four hours later, a drained-looking Anderson slowly edged away from the police training building in which he had just spend his evening being tutored by Sherlock Holmes. His brain was buzzing with chemical formulas and behavioural patters, and he had a throbbing headache. Sherlock, however, emerged from the same building a few seconds later with a spring in his step, feeling energised. Both men encountered Lestrade, who had waited in the car park for them to finish.

"How did the tutoring go, Sherlock?"

"I think Anderson is now aware of the importance of only keeping information relevant to his cases and occupation stored upon his hard-drive, and deleting anything trivial to create more room. Unfortunately, he has his work cut out for him, as I have never seen so much trivia packed away in one brain before."

"Okay...Is another session of tutoring required, or will he be prepared in future?" Lestrade asked, noting the startled expression on Anderson's face as he directed the question pointedly to both of them.

"I'll leave that for you to decide. You know where I am if Anderson here fails any more of his assessments."

Anderson fainted on the floor at the prospect of spending another four hours alone with Sherlock Holmes, being patronisingly tutored by the consulting detective whilst simultaneously having his each and every secret deduced. Sherlock simply smirked and walked away, leaving Lestrade to deal with the unconscious Anderson.


End file.
